


Happy Molly-days

by littleweedwrites



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Autism Spectrum, Autistic Molly Hooper, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-08-30 02:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16755883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleweedwrites/pseuds/littleweedwrites
Summary: Prompt: Holiday Decor





	1. Tinselitis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Holiday Decor

 

Molly loves Christmastime. Well most of it anyway; she can do without the crammed shops full of people buying ill thought out presents for people they barely think about for the rest of the year, and the queuing, and people fighting over the last bag of sprouts. Even the thought of sprouts makes her stomach turn.

But meticulous wrapping in shiney paper, decorating, baking, filling stockings, carols, eating too much chocolate. All of that. She adores it.

And today, on the 1st of December, the same as every year, her tree is going up. It’s a ritual. A tradition. Delightful and unmovable. She dreads to think what would happen if the tree didn’t go up today. At the least it would be remarkably discomforting. At worst it would ruin Christmas.

The tree itself is modest, and most definitely fake, but well loved. She couldn’t cope with all those needles dropping off a real one. She remembers too many awkward moments from childhood when they’d had real trees and how the needles had stuck into her slipper socks, and how even though they hadn’t hurt her the feeling had caused a tightness in her stomach, and a buzzing feeling behind her eyes. And then she would have to limp over to the sofa to extract them.

Her fake tree had been purchased when she was at uni. She had liked how neat it was and that it had made her room feel homely, and all these years later couldn’t bring herself to part with it.

So she concentrates on the assembly, carefully clipping the branches into the centre ‘trunk’ and fluffing them out just enough to make sure it looks full from all sides. This takes time. It has to be perfect.

Toby, her cat, is eyeing her suspiciously from the sofa. When she starts to put the baubles on he’ll show interest, but this is the boring bit.

He gets up to look when she starts on the lights, and then she shoos him out and closes the door, as she knows he’ll try and tangle himself up. Out of all the Christmas paraphinalia, the lights are the newest item. Replaced a few years ago as LED lights are more energy efficient and whilst her salary isn’t modest, living in London on her own is expensive. Plus she prefers the strength of the new lights. Sparkle is up there   in the Molly Hooper list of Ten Christmas Must-haves.

She then puts up the decorations. Letting Toby back in to watch. And throwing him a sparkly ball she keeps in the box so he can join in. Their placements are second nature now. Every ornament has a home, a right place, from the smallest wooden angel who hides on the back left near the middle, right up to the felt reindeer which nestles into a lower branch in the center.

And of course the finishing off is with tinsel, in silver, gold and red.

Molly is enamoured with tinsel. It is number one on the Must-have list. And one of Molly’s proper earliest holiday time memories is of tinsel and decorating. It startles people sometimes that she remembers so far back with such clarity, but she does.

She had been nearing two years old; busy sitting on the sofa singing to her beloved cuddly lion Eric, stroking his soft fur, when Mummy and Daddy had come in with boxes and started moving furniture round. That had confused her. And she’d squawked at them in confusion. Rushed out a garble of sounds that were Molly words, but nothing understandable.

"We’re decorating the tree, love." Daddy had said. And then he’d brought in an outside tree, and Molly had gone and hidden behind the settee, pouting in disgust. Not for inside the house surely.

Her parents had laughed.

"Funny little thing." Her mother had said. They were used to her, mostly.

She’d kept peeking out, looking at what they were doing, dressing the tree up in lights and pretty hanging things. It had looked amazing. And she’d left her little hiding place to watch. But the best bit was the string of bright ribbon shard spikes that they draped on last.

It made such satisfying sparkles, so she’d shouted for it.

”Hey Molly, darling. Do you like the tinsel, little love? Do you want to touch.” 

”Don’t let her play with it Len! She’ll choke. She still keeps putting stuff in her mouth.” It was true she had, but Mummy was mean to point it out, also telling her no often made her want to; that had been confusing.

”But she likes it. Jude. And I’m watching. Do you want to help Moll?”

She hadn’t responded then and he’d left it with her. So she’d just kept hold of the tinsel her daddy had given her. Hers now; wound round Eric instead. And when Mummy had tried to take it back: ‘The last piece, it has to go on the tree’. Molly had screamed at her. Really bawled. Why did they want her special sparkles?

They’d had to leave it with her, and watch her like a hawk for the rest of the day. And at bedtime had insisted she undress Eric and leave it on the bedside, that had caused another row, but eventually she calmed and slept. And from then on it was always her own piece of tinsel. Coming out every year, on Eric, then worn in her hair on Christmas day. Always hers.

Nowadays, it’s practically shredded to nothing... but just as sacred, held togther not by the string and wire core but mostly by some miracle and love.

And it is the last piece on her tree before the wonky eyed angel.

Molly’s tinsel. 


	2. A Rainbow Conundrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Star
> 
> Past perspective this time.

Molly is awake in bed. She had pretended sleep when Mummy had come in to check on her.

She is annoyed and anxious, and that is making sleep difficult.

It’s because this year in the school nativity, Molly has been chosen to be the star.

She does not want to be the star. It will be awful. It makes her feel sick just thinking about it.

Last year, in reception she had been Mary. Only three lines, which when the parts had been assigned had seemed mean, because Molly was the best reader in the class. But she had ruined it on the stage. Absolutely petrified, nothing had come out of her mouth when she had gone to speak. She’d practised and practised, but it had been different with all of the parents watching, expecting her to deliver her lines. The lights blaring into her eyes, and the uncomfortable costume. She had found she couldn’t. And she’d screwed her eyes up and refused to move. When the scene had changed someone had had to come rescue her from the stage. It had all been too much, when ‘push had come to shove’ her mum had said. There really hadn’t been any shoving or pushing though, she wasn’t allowed to fight with the other children, and she wouldn’t have done that on the stage. That would have been _very_ bad.

But she definitely isn’t going to be the star. No lines this time. A star doesn’t have to speak. A relief. But it is another stupid costume, even worse than the repurposed tablecloth she’d had to endure last year.

She shouldn’t have that silly star shaped spray painted cardboard hat. Stars aren’t even people. It makes no sense!

And Daddy had said it probably wasn’t even a star, more likely a comet. She doesn’t know what a comet is and she doesn’t want to be one of them either, but Daddy had been certain he was right and she believed him.

She sighs to herself and stiffles the tears threatening, the ones making her stomach churn. 

What she really wants to do is wear her Rainbow Brite costume Aunt Trinnie had made her for her birthday, but apparently the Nativity is lacking little girls with special colour magic and talking horses.

Logically, Molly knows Rainbow Brite is quite silly. It isn’t good science, but she’s amazing, along with the all of ‘The Color Kids’ and their sprites.

They’re bright and pretty, and the show has sparkles, and a theme tube that has bored itself into Molly’s head. 

She concentrates on that instead. On her complex internal pretend world where she is a color kid. It will help her sleep, and maybe tomorrow, she can try explaining to Mummy exactly why she can’t do it.


	3. Being in the present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 9: Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey peeps. Oh gosh I am so behind on these, but luckily as they don’t follow on I can try to catch up... maybe. There’s my punishment for working a 55 hour week and trying to have a life as well!

Presents are Molly’s forte. Picking them out, wrapping them. She always gets something just right for the person. Not stunningly; it isn’t an ‘oh my gosh, you are an expert’ at this scenario. She just puts in a lot of effort. It’s more of a taught skill.

It didn’t used to be that way. When she was little she found shopping for others difficult and frustrating. Mostly because she wanted to either be safely back with her own toys and games, or wanted whatever it was for herself.

Then there was keeping it a secret. The amount of times she got into trouble for spoiling a surprise, she soon lost count. And somehow that was a big deal that grown ups, and other kids got upset about. Molly liked knowing what she was getting. The certainty was comforting.

Right now she is wrapping presents for Sherlock and John. Sherlock’s is a super new set of tupperware for transport of the the various organs he keeps asking for. John keeps moaning about things leaking, so these will help. She supposes it’s really a present for both of them. She’s already labelled them with biohazard labels, so they don’t get mixed up. And for John, a jumper from her favourite shop; buying presents for John is easy, they have peripheral likes in common, some clothes, some music. Enough that she won’t offend him if she opts for something easy.

She picks out the papers from the long special storage box. Purple for Sherlock. Of course. It’s sort of a joke now. After that debarcle with her lipstick and the paper that one year, she always picks it to match his shirt, or scarf, or coat. And tartan for John. He likes tartan paper, says it’s the best sort and properly Christmassy.

Cuts neatly, uses the decent giftwrapping stick tape. All her edges are sharp and perfect. 

Then bows, of course, she loves the bows, almost as important as tinsel and labels.

Then all slipped into a suitable carrier bag to transport to their’s.

Then it’s onto Greg, Mrs Hudson, Meena. All matched, present, paper labels. All things that are right.

All in all she’s good at present.

 

 


	4. Of warmth and ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 12: Gingerbread

The only decent Gingerbread in Molly’s opinion is soft and iced.

The biscuit kind, is either too crunchy, like chewing on bricks or too chewy, and prone to getting stuck to her teeth. Horrid.

Even the traditional cake sort her mum makes, often has too much black treacle in and the mollasses make it too bitter. She’s gagged on it more than once, and it’s not kind to Mummy but she just really doesn’t like it.

The lovely shiny Pfeffernüsse her cousins bring over with them when visiting around Christmas. Those are perfect.

Soft, spicey, warm but not hotly so. And with the most beautiful melt in the mouth glaze, the sweetness contrasts with the bread. And the texture is more bready. Which makes sense! Because it’s GingerBREAD.

She has lots of food foibles like that. Ordinary foods people think she should like, mostly because they do, or their children do; which make her feel weird or sick.

And she does try new things but it’s hard.

Like the gingerbread people they made in class last week to hang upon trees. Most of the kids had eaten theirs on the way home. But Molly’s is still there. Hanging slightly wonky on the tree. If it dries out well it’ll probably last forever! 


	5. Jumpergate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 13: Frost

Molly is annoyed. More than annoyed. She’s incandescent. How dare her Mother just dump on her that there’s a family function she’s expected at tonight!

That’s not nearly enough time to get anything together at all, or even get used to the idea. She is at work all morning; her hair needs cutting and Sandra her trusted hairdresser isn’t booked until Thursday, the day before the work Christmas do; and she has nothing suitable to wear.

She’s certainly not going to double use the outfit she’s got for the work thing. She has painstakingly picked it out just right, the correct fabrics so she doesn’t risk a sensory overload, it clings in all the the right places and enhances her assets, and has plenty of tasteful sparkle, especially as she’s desperate to catch the eye of that new blonde nurse in Oncology, who has assured her they’ll be there. It’s absolutely _not_ the right outfit for her straightlaced mother will want to see her in. Plus her sisters and various cousins will be there and somehow they always manage to wear beautiful outfits, and be absolutely gorgeous.

Whilst she would loath the comparison if someone else made it she rather identifies with Bridget Jones in that respect; maybe she should break out an ugly Christmas jumper a la Mark Darcy and be done with it. John gets away with it. And she rather envies him, she is wearing a nice sweater now in fact, a favourite, and it’s comfy and warm. 

That’s it. She will sweep round to her favourite place for jumpers after work, pick up the nice new one she was admiring in their window last week, and really annoy her mother, just to get her own back. If she’s going to have to change all her plans and have her delicate schedule upset at least she will be pleasantly clothed while she has to suffer all the other inconveniences.

With that her rage, and associated risk of a complete meltdown has at least simmered down to manageable. Toby cat will be getting extra cuddles when she gets back this evening, she’s certain.


End file.
